


Wicked Games

by btwzarry (gnarly), gnarly



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Barebacking, Drunk Blow Jobs, Famous Zayn, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Infidelity, M/M, Writer Harry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-04
Updated: 2014-12-04
Packaged: 2018-02-27 22:59:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2709821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gnarly/pseuds/btwzarry, https://archiveofourown.org/users/gnarly/pseuds/gnarly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I left my girl back home,<br/>I don't love her no more and she'll never fucking know that...<br/>So tell me you love, even though you don't love me</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wicked Games

**Author's Note:**

> I was listening to Wicked Games and the idea that came was one I couldn't resist, my original idea kind of got away from me :-) oops. Hasn't been edited throughly so I'm sorry for any mistakes .

It always seems to go something like this, Harry getting much too drunk and Zayn getting much too high. Harry becomes an extension of Zayn, not because he has trouble walking or stumbling through the club but because when he’s drunk he can’t stay away from pretty things. And Zayn is always the prettiest one in the club.

They met almost two months ago, both artists in the worst sense of the word, full of angst and pain and everything that made for good poetry and sleepless nights. Zayn made RnB songs that Harry could write 20 poems a night to as Zayn’s smooth, sensual tones came flowing out of speakers at every club within a 50 mile radius of his apartment. They met outside a high brow club, Harry had come with Grimmy, his clothes were bought on a writer budget and he felt so underdressed and foolish surrounded by men in Armani suits and women in Burbery coats who frowned at his white shirt and ripped black jeans. Only one person looked more uncomfortable than Harry, Zayn sat in a corner watching every passerby as if they might bite. His hazel eyes granted Harry with an amused glance, looking Harry up and down. Zayn was in black from head to toe, when he stood from his seat, eyes still on Harry it was impossible not to look at him. The whole room admired his sharp features, the crisp line of his jaw and his confident stride as he took slow steady steps out the back of the club. Harry followed like a magnet drawn to Zayn's cool as steel gaze.

Zayn was on his second cigarette when Harry finally mustered the courage to step past the threshold. "I hate these things" Zayn blows a steady stream of grey smoke in front of him, "All these people who only care about who could get them their next big break and what overpriced designer outfit their stylist picked tonight." Harry just nods, not opening his mouth in fear of rambling. He's standing next to Zayn but he's too close, he's tipsy too because it's the only way he'd make it through this party alive and the smell of cigarette smoke doesn't bother him like it should. Zayn doesn't seem to mind though, just leans his mouth closer when he speaks again.

"And then there's you in a white tshirt, and jeans that look like they've been through a war. Your dumb tattoos are showing and I know you don't have a publicist or a manager because he'd make you cover that shit up. And I like that, that at least one person isn't just here to get their fucking picture taken." Zayn rolls his black sleeves up and he's got art covering him as far as Harry can see. And Harry would usually be offended that someones insulted his tattoos _[they have fucking meaning for gods sake]_ but he's looking at the curve of Zayn's lips and forgets what had even come out of them. 

So Harry can't help it, mostly because Zayn is the most mesmerizing creature with all his edges and crisp lines, when his lips follow his gaze and he feels a rough stubble run against his cheek. Zayn doesn't pull back, lets Harry run his tongue over his bottom lip and his hips roll into Zayn so softly he might of dreamt it. Harry is the one who pulls away, trying his best not to pant in Zayn's ear as he whispers hotly "Fuck me"

"I have a girlfriend," Zayn says, like it's supposed to ward Harry away, but he pushes Harry into the brick wall anyway _[so hard it will probably bruise]_. He avoids Harry's mouth, leaving hot, sloppy kisses down his neck, his hand shoved forcefully down Harry's pants, stroking him slowly. "Fuck me" Harry says again and Zayn doesn't miss a beat when he mentions his girlfriend, making Harry face the wall. Harry hasn't even fully wrapped his mind around the thought of Zayn's cock inside him and Zayn is inside him, his thrusts shaky but everything Harry needs.

 _"I have a girlfriend,"_ he whispers when he comes and Harry wrote more than 20 poems that night about back alleys and perfect girlfriends.

 

+++

 

It had been three months since that night and Zayn still had a girlfriend, and he convinced himself that every song on the album was about Perrie and not Harry _[even the part about dimples and eyes as green as the deep parts of the ocean]_. He feels like shit when the album comes out and not a single song is even compared to Perrie and she picks up on it. He'd been telling her for a year about the lyrics describing long blonde hair and a bubbly laugh but all she and everyone else seemed to hear was wild brown curls and the taste of _his_ tongue. Perrie kept whatever she was thinking to herself though, telling Zayn she couldn't wait to hear the single he and _the Weeknd_ had worked on.

Zayn knew he should break up with Perrie, that he was treating her so utterly terrible it made him sick to his stomach. He was never home, always came home smelling of Harry and pen ink. He made Perrie read all of Harry's poetry, mostly about crisp lines and sharp edges and he tried to ignore the way she tensed up every time he brought a dirty scrap of paper home. Zayn didn't really know how deep into it all he was until Harry was asleep next to him, thoroughly fucked and passed out, when _it_ happened. Zayn had the radio playing ever so softly, listening to his own record drum out when Perrie texted him, which was weird because Perrie hated texting, too impersonal.

_'I heard the single'_

_'yea?'_ Zayn types lazily, his eyes struggling to stay open.

_'I love that line, "I left my girl back home, I don't love her know more, but she'll never fucking know that" it has so much emotion and truth'_

_'yea?_ ' Zayn types and he's wide awake now his heart thumping in his chest so loud he's sure Harry will wake up.

' _yeah. well I'll be at home... waiting. Love you, tell Harry I said hello, see you in the morning'_ And Zayn cracked his phone and woke Harry up before his mind even had time to process.

Zayn came home a week later and Perrie was not there waiting. There were no bags packed at the door, no mess made in anger or even a lingering smell of her perfume. Only a small scrap of paper on his side of the bed.

 

_Zayn,_

_I know you love poetry but I'm not poet, so I'll just keep it short and simple. I know when I'm not wanted, so I left. I love you, very much and I really do hope you're happy, I couldn't do that for you, but I feel like Harry can._

_Perrie xx_

 

Zayn had always wondered what dying felt like.

 

He felt like he had died a thousand deaths by the next morning. The tattoo of her on his arm mocking him, reminding him of the wrongs he's done. So as he took a long hit of the blunt between his fingers he cursed himself for feeling so sullen. He deserved worse, he deserved slapping and screaming and yelling and fighting, but what was there to _fight_ for? _He loved someone else._ He felt sick to his stomach because it was the first time he'd really ever admitted to it, that he was in love with someone else, with Harry, that bone crushing devastating love that made him want to run to Harry and tell him everything. But he couldn't do that, couldn't find the will to twist the knife in Perrie’s fragile spine anymore, so he sat in his room with nothing but his journal, his pen and a heart full of songs.

 

+++

 

To say Harry was okay would be a huge overstatement, but he managed to tell the lie whenever anyone asked. It had been a full year since Zayn walked out his apartment at 1AM, something about a text from Perrie.

Zayn had completely disappeared from the media then, rumors flied that he had as _The Mirror_ put it _‘Ran away to get more inspiration for his steamy songs with hot girlfriend Perrie Edwards’_. Little did they  know Perrie didn’t have green eyes and couldn’t do that thing with her tongue that leaves Zayn begging for more. Harry continued his act of pretending that the idea of Zayn getting married _[to anyone other than him]_ made him sick to his stomach and the fact that he couldn't even stalk the media to get a glimpse of the crisp lines and edges that filled his stanzas had him constantly on edge.  He went out every night with Grimmy and images of Zayn that burned into his eyes were almost, _almost_  completely hurled into the toilet every night. He _almost_ convinced himself that every one of his poems about sharp lines and back alleys wasn't about Zayn, until tonight.

Harry had felt him  before he saw him, saw the way everyone in line waiting to get their book signed by "t _he" Harry Styles_ turned and looked in awe. He was in his outfit from that night and Harry could almost swear the wrinkles and pressed line from Harry’s tight grip on his shirt were still embedded in the fabric. Harry tried his best to keep his head down, to avoid looking Zayn's now dull and void eyes. It'd been a year of no contact, not even a single message. Zayn had disappeared and if he honestly thought he could come in here and steal all the attention away in some grand gesture to gain Harry's forgiveness, he was wrong. Harry wasn't going to fall for that and go running into his arms, he wasn't going to act as pathetic as he felt.

But as usual, Zayn was completely unexpected. He held his copy of the book out to Harry, Harry took it gently only muttering "Name?"

"Zayn," Zayn says and it feels so wrong pretending they're strangers.

"Last name?" Harry says coyly finally looking up but he can't keep the intimacy of eye contact and buries his face back into his curls, that have grown since Zayn last saw him, and his book.

"Harry." Zayn tries a small plea.

"No last name? Okay," he signs the book and shuts it, handing it to Zayn curtly "Thanks for coming Zayn," he says in mock politeness.

"Harry I'm not asking you to forgive me, I just want to give you this. Thought you'd like it," Zayn whispers to Harry and neither one of them can stop the goosebumps from being so close.

"I don't want gifts from you Zayn, I just wanted _you_ and it's all I've ever wanted just to have you completely. No Perrie to catch us, no paps to out you, no rushing back home at 1AM and disappearing for a year Zayn," Harry's eyes are wet now and he knows people are looking at them confused and the whole thing will be on TMZ later, but he doesn't care because he's waited _two years_ to say this.

"Just take it," Zayn says sliding a folded scrap of paper across the table before following his security out the door.

Harry manages to wait until the end of the signing to read the note, it practically burned a hole in his pants waiting to be read.

_I spent three days finding this poem, I'm not sure why this one, it's like everything else with us there's no reason or sense, everything just fits. It just feels right._

**_Falling For You_ **

**_Matthew Healy_ **

_ I’ll never make it right... _

_Don’t you see me now_

_I think I’m falling, I’m falling for you_

_Don’t you need me_

_I think I’m falling, I’m falling for you_

_On this night and in this light_

_I think I’m falling, I’m falling for you_

_Maybe you’ll change your mind_

_I think I’m falling_

_I’m caught on your coat again_

_You said oh no, it’s fine_

_I read between the lines_

_And touched your leg again_

_I’ll take it one day at a time_

_Soon you will be mine_

_Oh but I want you now_

_When the smoke is in your eyes_

_You look so alive_

_Do you fancy sitting down with me_

_Maybe ‘cos you’re all I need according to your heart_

_My place is not deliberate_

_Feeling of your arms_

_I don’t wanna be your friend, I wanna kiss your neck_

_Don’t you see me_

_I think I’m falling, I’m falling for you_

_Don’t you need me_

_I think I’m falling, I’m falling for you_

_On this night and in this light_

_I think I’m falling, I’m falling for you_

_Maybe you’ll change your mind_

_I'm sorry Harry, I'm not gonna try any grand gestures or big gifts I promise. Even if you don't forgive me for the shit I've put you through at least promise you'll remember that I love you. I love you more than art or music or the way flowers bloom in spring. I hope I'm the subject of all your poems because your electric soul that lights up your ocean green eyes is the theme of all my songs. I've been away for a year but I spent the whole thing thinking of you, writing about you, wishing I could touch you. I love you, even when i don't act like it._

_yours forever and always, Zayn xx_

Harry's never moved that quickly in his life, running out of the room in the middle of one of Grimmy's long, outrageous tales. He ran out the building like it was on fire, but the only thing on fire was his finger tips as he remembered the way their fingers brushed. He couldn't help the look of surprise when he found Zayn fiddling a cigarette between his fingers, leaning on the wall in a way that made Harry want to run into his arms and forget the past two years. But he doesn't, just tries to fight back a moan as Zayn puts the thing between his plump lips.

"You know I hate those things," Harry whispers and just like that Zayn lets it fall from his lips like his mother had scolded him. 

"Haven't smoked one since I met you," Zayn says, looking at Harry and all the lines on his face seemed sharper and he somehow managed to make his underfed body look so  _fucking_ delectable, and Harry hates the way he's happy that Zayn hasn't been happy with the past two years. And the spot that makes Zayn grip the sheets tighter when Harry's teeth brush it just looks so inviting. And Harry couldn't resist anymore, rushing on Zayn so fast he knocks the smaller boy over with his clumsy strides, but it doesn't stop him as he starts his assault on every part of Zayn he can reach. He spend extra time on that spot because _god he's missed it_ and he forgets they're in the middle of the street until Zayn's moaning in his ear _fuck me_  and Harry's fully ready to do it right then and there. 

The ride to Zayn's new apartment is short, and he lives so close to Harry's that Harry wants to hit himself for being so close all this time. The ride up the elevator to the penthouse is too hot and has Harry sweating as he rubs the zip of his pants against Zayn's hips, just the smell of him making him go crazy. Every touch felt like fire on his fingertips, igniting painfully beautiful memories. It takes almost no time before their lips are reconnected and Harry had the full intention of having his dirty ways with Zayn right there on the den floor but Zayn is pushing him onto a plush bed before he has time to think about it, his hand roughly pulling the younger boys jeans down his legs. He doesn't waste time teasing, seems like they've waited long enough for this moment, this feeling of bones turning to dust and hearts beating so fast Harry is sure if Zayn pumps his hand a little faster he might pass out. Right as Harry feels that tight knot in his stomach and thinks he's gonna come like a virgin because it's been _so long,_ Zayn is practically swallowing him and all his blood feels like it's boiling and Zayn does that thing that makes Harry's head spin that Harry couldn't never seem to forget [ _or imitate with his hand_ ]. 

"S-stop," Harry stutters but Zayn just pushes so deep his throat contracts around the taller boy so Harry grabs him by his raven hair and pulls back harshly. "Wanna fuck you now," And it takes all the muscles in his body to find the strength to reach over to the bedside table pulling out the lube and a condom. He's about to roll it on when Zayn's breathless voice is in his ear.

"Wanna feel you, I'm clean," And Harry nods and mutters something about him being clean too, asking one more time if it's okay before throwing the packet to the side. It's existence forgotten when Zayn eases onto Harry, his breath shaky as he manages to say "Don't need prep" smirking into Harry's shoulder. 

He's moving his hips in a circular motion that has Harry seeing stars and he tries his best to hold off, to make their first night in a year the best one yet but he's missed touching him and this feeling so much that he comes in Zayn unapologetically  and with no warning, but Zayn is close himself so he doesn't care, giving himself a few quick pumps and he's coming in hot spurts on Harry's torse, connecting their lips as he does. They don't move for a while, just laying there with their lips rested on each other. No kissing, not talking, and the only movement is the lazy trail of Harry's fingers on Zayn's spine. 

_Harry wrote over 20 poems that night about fiery touches and soft curves._

  


 


End file.
